


a hundred rainfalls

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M, Just... read it, Kiss Bingo, Kissing, Metaphors, Rain, There’s finding peace, idk man, its 300 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: For a moment, they are free.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 10
Collections: Kisses Bingo





	a hundred rainfalls

There’s no such thing as retirement, for heroes and villains. There’s only life, and death, and the occasional rain of bullets and fire.

Sometimes, rarely, there’s another rain; hidden away, lost on the moors, where Natasha hides now.

The thing is, she didn’t mean to run away. She’s not even sure she  _ did. _

More, she ran, and then she ended up away. Whatever that’s worth. 

She ended up right on the edge of her earliest memories; foggy grey, bitter cold, rain like shards of glass cutting into her cheek as she leans forward, arms thrown wide. 

There are hands on her waist. In her dreams, it is the father she can’t remember. Now, it is the man she never thought she could love. 

He holds her, and summer screams furious rain down upon them. 

He holds her, and the world spins fast and the sea spits it’s salty rain upon them. 

She loved him, maybe, before she knew what love was. When the rain that marred her skin came from a rough hewn cane. He didn’t love her, when he watched her dance across the broken wood slats, when his sharp instructions fell upon her pale skin. 

He might’ve loved her. 

She wouldn’t have recognized gentle fingers across her shoulders anymore than she’d have known a fragrant, honeysuckle rain of the south. 

He holds her now, tips her forward. Whispers into her ears in the harsh language of her homeland, of his cage. 

Cheek to cheek, and she can see through the snow slurry, drenching and drowning them. They’re running, always fleeing. 

From ballet and bullets. From shields and crosses. From duty and destiny and curses. 

“You’re safe here, Natasha. Let go,” he whispers. No longer Russian, not in English either. 

“You haven’t spoken in Romanian since  _ before _ ,” she says into the deluge.

Before, when they were kids, when they were free, when the only rain that threatened them made puddles to play in. 

The bullets will find them. Fire will rain. They’ll dance on broken glass and die heroes’ deaths, because that is the rule of Heroes and Villains.

But here, on the moors, he kisses her as wild lightning strikes the water and desperate thunder shakes the trees and for a moment, a breath, a single drop of salty water down their noses, they are  _ free. _


End file.
